Slowly Awake
by AngelicSynner
Summary: [Base on iRO] Faye has been hunted and harrassed and feverishly abused, the only moments of happiness were soon after shattered. And yet she decides to become one of them, convinced she will never do better in life


This is an iRO (International Ragnarok Online) Fan fiction. I'm changing some of the base rules, but it still contains the basic idea of iRO. The cities and monsters are the same. If you have any comments leave review or e-mail me. This is an idea I had for a while so I throw it out to you readers to pick apart for me ^ ^;

Enjoy

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own iRO or else I'd be stinking rich

Chapter 1 

[The pain is unbearable but at least I'm alive]

I was running, running as quickly as I could manage. Dodging swiftly around trees and leaping over upcoming petty monsters. They were following me, all 3 of them, swinging their weapons threateningly. Running was no use. Dodging was no use. They were all stronger than me, each of them having agility and dexterity that out numbered mine by a fair amount of digits. They had been trained for years. I hadn't. I spent my life in poverty, slowly awaking from a tearing nightmare. 

Yet giving in was not an option. I had never given up before, even whilst being hunted down like game for the sick enjoyment of others. And so, with cascades of perspiration running down my brow, I raced on. Unfortunately, my luck had never kicked in at the right times. 

I edged around the next corner, only to find a huge, rocky ledge, rising above me like a gate that refused to open. By the time I realized it was a dead-end I had no more time to backtrack. There the three of them stood. Grins plastered on their faces and weapons held high.

"So, little miss celibacy, where are you going to run now?" the tallest sneered, stepping closer.  
"A girl like you shouldn't have been wandering around this late at night anyway. Thieves might get the wrong impression." The other added. 

Ironically, this band of dirty bastards, still portraying their scornful smiles, were indeed a party of thieves. 

"Especially when she turns out to be such a rare beauty." The third said, also moving in.  
"There's no where left to run girl, even if there was, we're probably the most humane beings you could face in this area." He continued. 

By now their leader was standing right in front of me. A mere few inches separated him from me so that I could feel his ice cold breath on my bare shoulder. It had been refreshingly warm earlier so I didn't see the need in covering up more then my sleeveless shirt would. Unfortunately my complete lack of foresight had taken me down again. 

"Now whore, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way." He told me, running the tip of his main gauche dagger down the side of my face.   
In a moment of spontaneous reaction my leg soared up and hit him right where it counts. Taking advantage of the shock I inflicted I grabbed his arm and twisted it back vigorously. After hearing the satisfying 'snap' of his bone I let go and began to run again.   
"You little bitch!" he shouted, "Get her!"   
The other two raced forward to capture me, not needing more than a few steps. "I'll teach you a lessons of respect you wench, a lesson you wont soon forget." He pulled his arm back and with the full toll of an advanced thief he thrust his fist against me.

[The pain is unbearable but at least I'm alive]

It felt as if someone had smashed half my face with a boulder. The searing pain followed, but that was something I refused to show. A trickle of blood ran down past my nose and mouth, its metallic taste bathing my lips. I held my gaze, aflame with rage, meeting his with a cold fierceness. 

"Haven't had enough?" he mocked, pulling back again. I prepared myself for another blow, fully aware that I wouldn't be able to handle that one as well. 

"Dirty thief. Insulting your class by harassing girls. Then again honour never did lie in the requirements of your job," an agitated voice stated. 

I couldn't see the source of the voice. My sight had gone blurry and my knees were weak. As the two thieves beside me let go in a state of shock I fell to the ground, tearing my knee, twisting my ankle but remaining reasonably alive. Yells began to echo into my consciousness. Metal against metal screeched through the area. Someone began to run, while the leader remained fighting against the shadowed figure.

Once again Lady Luck must have despised me. Got hated me, I knew it. Just waiting for another chance to spite me this moment was taken to the Lord's advantage. Another heavy blow hit my left shoulder, piercing through the skin and fracturing the bone. I felt a wave of sickness rush over me as the blood began gushing out of the deep wound. I sputtered and rolled to my side to stop myself from choking. 

The inflictor was the youngest of the opposing party, swinging his cutter around wildly in attempted defence, but that was the last I could remember. My mind went numb with the stress and blind rage of the day. Everything around me blurred into a veil of grey and black. Another swift hit collided with my ribs, then I heard and saw no more.

**//\\**

[The pain is gone, am I still alive?]

Cruel waves of pain were all that reached my senses. Even with my body seemingly relaxed, laying on something plush, it seared through my nerves like wildfire. I furrowed my brow and clenched my hands. Digging my nails deep into my palm I gave my mind an alternative pain to worry about.

"Now, now, darling, calm down." A gentle voice muttered. 

The soft feeling of a wet cloth running over my forehead followed this. Cautiously I opened my eyes, curiosity getting the best of me. The first thing I noticed were her eyes. She was a nun, no older than early 30s, with chestnut hair that was tide back into a tight ponytail. She had a gentle look about her, calm, collected and tranquil. 

But her eyes. They had no virtue about them whatsoever; they were unfocused, distant and empty. 

"You had us worried dear." She told me, continuing to run the cool cloth over my brow. I opened my mouth as if to reply, but thought the better of it. 'Who's we' did not seem the most appropriate question to ask.

"Thank you," I muttered instead. 

"Shush, there's time for thanks later, all you have to worry about right now is getting better," she told me, "First, what is your name?" 

I hesitated. I didn't trust people very easily, especially after being hunted like common prey. Searching back into my memory I tried to make up a name that I could go by for now. 

"Syndra," I replied, "But I'm used to Syn," which, in its own way, was the truth. 

Her expression did not change at the mention of that word. She nodded and then told me her name. 

"Anne," I nodded, apparently a useless gesture, and then closed my eyes again. Several questions were racing through my mind. Each one spent a mere second at the front of my mind before being replaced by another. The pain increased for every question that followed the first, 

'Who had saved me?' I shuddered and gasped as a feeling of poison washed through my body. I moaned loudly and gasped the sheet of the bed I was lying on. 

"Paladín!" Anne shouted quickly, "Ayúdeme!"

Immediately a heard footsteps rushing towards the room. The door was flung open and someone rushed in. "What's wrong?" an adolescent inquired. He was a boy, no more than 1 or 2 years older than I was, but he had a strong, determined voice. 

"Hold her down, I need to get Father Dominique." She told him before getting up and leaving the room. 

I slid my eyes open to catch a glimpse of him. He had dark brown hair, almost black, slightly spiked. He looked proud, but there was something about him, something I couldn't quite make out. He picked up the cloth and dipped it in the water. I put my hand up in defence. He looked familiar, which wasn't a good thing. With his other hand he reached for mine and brought it down to my side without much struggling. 

"Calm down, nothings going to happen, no one will hurt you here." He exclaimed. 

I didn't have the energy in me to fight back. I felt helpless and didn't much appreciate it. I didn't want to be fussed about; having so many people around me tortured me. I had spent 13 years of my life alone and that's the way it should stay. I began to tremble and started whispering. 

"Go away," I told him, "Don't touch me!" 

Just then the sound of the door thrashing into the opposing wall interrupted me. People were rustling about. I thrust my eyes open, but could not see anything. My vision was blurred. _Why? What had caused this?_ Tears. I couldn't grasp why. Maybe it was the frustration of helplessness. 

"Son, go back to your room, there's no need for you here," an old, airy voice could be heard commanding to the boy. Whoever had ushered those words now stood above me, uttering words in a language that I could never understand. Moments later someone held a bottle to my lips. I did not drink. Even after my mouth had been forced open I did not drink. 

Not until someone had walked over to my side and began stroking my hair. It must have been Anne, for the comfort I received from that encouraged me to do something in return. After I had taken the first few sips of the thick, cold liquid a new energy filled me. It wasn't the kind of energy that sent adrenaline rushing through your veins, but more of a hope. Faith, you could call it. Something that helped me believe that everything would be better, that I was safe.

Unknowing of what I was doing I raised my hand to the one of the person beside me. Gripping it tightly I let out a sigh and finally, after a long time, feel into a deep sleep, not caring what waited for me when I woke up. If I had the choice I wouldn't wake up, too much has happened to me. Too many unmentionable things that send showers of ice writhing up my spine. Yet for now rest is all that mattered. Whatever God wished to inflict upon me next could wait until I woke up. 

[The pain is gone. Don't let me awake] 

**//\\**

The first thing that escaped me the next morning was a low, muffled moan. In my mind I felt light-headed and careless, but my shoulders felt as if a horde of nightmares trampled me to the ground. I ached all over and simply breathing took a lot of energy out of me. Yet it helped. A long, good rest awoke a new sense of purpose in me. 

The first thing on my agenda was to thank everyone in this place for what they had done. And so with the added initiative I sat up in the low, white bed. I swung my legs off the side of it onto the ground. Jumping at the touch of cold stone against the heals of my feet I shivered slightly. Getting used to the cold didn't take too long so I propped myself up gingerly and began to take some cautious steps. 

Walking wasn't much of a problem so I began to increase my speed. I went over to the left side of the bed and towards what seemed to be a small washroom. I entered it to find that on the side of a white marble washbasin lay my clothes. 

Knee-long tan shorts, a sleeveless black shirt and my under-garments. After carefully going through them to make sure everything was there I lifted my head towards the mirror. I was slightly taken aback by my reflection. My usually straight, shoulder long lavender hair was in disarray. 

A long purplish brews cut across my face from my high-cheekbones across the bridge of my small nose and down to the side. I looked battered and fragile. My lips were chapped and had tiny cuts in them everywhere. The only feature that seemed to be the same as always were my eyes. 

They were the same dark red they had always been, full of the fire of determination, circled in thoughtfulness. I was also still short, which bugged me since I had never been particularly fond of my height. Disregarding what I looked like I pivoted around to shut the door. I didn't feel like leaving the room in just a long white shirt so I slipped on my shorts. After carefully combing my hair I opened the door and left the room. I was now in what seemed to be a simply decorated hallway. 

Following it I ended up before a gate. I began pulling on it. Eventually I put all my weight into it (which wasn't a lot) but it still wouldn't budge. 'Perhaps it's locked' I thought, leaning against it for a quick rest. Just then the door gave way and opened. Sheepishly and embarrassed at my stupidity I peered through. Something like a courtyard filled my vision. It was about the same size of my temporary room, but breathtaking in comparison. 

Brilliant colors of flowers lay clustered in beautiful patterns around an even smaller paved area. I continued to walk in, leaning on the door for the sake of catching my breath. 

"Oh Lordy, what are you doing out of bed?" a voice called out. I stopped suddenly and looked over at the source of the greeting/inquiry. 

"You." I said. 

"Me."  
The boy swung his sword in a serious of movements before putting it down. With steady paces he walked up to me. 

"I repeat, what are you doing out of bed?" By now he was directly above me. 

From the distance before I hadn't noted how tall he was. There was at least a good 4 – 5 inches difference in our heights, forcing me to tilt my head upwards. 

"I didn't feel like just lying there," I told him honestly. He grinned. 

"Figures. You didn't seem the kind of person who'll just lie around and do nothing at the time when you were swearing at the cleric." He responded. 

I stared at him. "I did what?"

"To be honest it was kind of amusing." He let out a low laugh then backed away to his sword. I shook my head. 

"What happened?" I inquired before thinking twice. 

The boy looked at me for a few moments, choosing his words carefully, "A swordsman brought you to this monastery. Apparently you had been attacked so he left you in our care. Mother Anne took care of you for a while until you gained a fever. Then Father Dominique, the cleric you swore to hell, had to come and fill you up with a mix of holy water and potions. Thank the Lord for _Aqua Benedicta."_

"Aqua Benedicta?"  
"An ability learned as an acolyte that allows the user to transform empty bottles in holy water and sometimes potions."

"Alright, I'll pretend I have an idea of what you're saying,"  
He laughed again. Picking up his sword he began repeating the pattern of movement he had done earlier. 

"I'm Shayd by the way," he introduced himself. 

"Shayd? Didn't Miss Anne call you Paladin?" I wondered.

"Yes, Paladín. To her I am the heraldic swordsman of God." It was my turn to laugh. "Now who might you be?" 

"I might be Fa-, Syn." 

"Well, Syn," he held out his hand, "Nice to meet you." 

I reached for his hand and shook it lightly. This boy had a strong, tight grip, which meant that he probably worked out. As the image of Shayd pumping weights with perspiration running down his chest came to my mind a wave of colour conquered my cheeks. I turned away and took a deep breath. 

"Do you mind if I sit out here for a while, I need some fresh air," I asked him, still facing the opposite direction. 

"Not at all. You're a guest, don't need to ask the page for permission." Shayd replied humbly. 

I walked towards the side and sat against the wall. I kept my head to the ground for a while, letting random images float through my mind. After a few minutes I lifted it again. Shayd was still practicing with his sword. It was long two-handed sword, which seemed to require a lot of strength. It didn't seem much of a problem for him though. His broad shoulders and strong arms handled it almost gracefully. The movement slowed down, until it stopped completely. 

After carefully putting the sword down and wrapping it in a piece of white silk cloth he walked over to where I was sitting. He stopped in front of me and squatted down to ask, "Mind if I sit here?" 

"Knock yourself out," I responded. Shayd focused on the ground for a second, taking long, deep breathes before looking back at me. His eyes began to study me, like a teacher to a student. 

"So where are you from?" I asked him, ending the slightly uncomfortable silence. 

"Here."

"Where's here?" 

Shayd sighed quietly. "I think I was picked up in Izlude. From what I've heard I was abandoned at a small church there, with that," he motioned towards the sword, 

"Well one of the monks traveled over to this monastery, which is located in the city of Prontera, and left me within the care of Mother Anne. I grew up here amongst church life, aside from sword fighting, to be who I am today."  
"I'm sorry." I muttered.   
"For what, being curious? Don't worry about it. What about you, willing to share your story?" Shayd interrogated.  
"Maybe some other time." a soft voice interrupted. I looked up to see Mother Anne standing at the gate. 

"Our guest needs to eat something before she collapses on us." I nodded and slowly got up. 

"It was nice meeting you," I said to Shayd. 

"Pleasure is mine," 

I turned and walked towards the nun. The next moment I was in the hallway again and Anne was closing the gate door. 

"Quite a boy isn't he?" she stated. I didn't know how to reply to this so I stared at the ground again. 

"He has excellent manners, ambition and a sense of honour." She continued. To me it sounded like she was advertising him. 

"You were very lucky that he was in the forest at that point and time."

"How do you mean?" I enquired. 

"He heard your shouts as you were being attacked by the 3 thieves. Without hesitation or regard of their levels he jumped in to rescue you. Thank the Lord Shayd knows how to fight. He intimidated the 3 of them into running away. By then you had been knocked unconscious so he carried you back here. Just last night he also assisted us in helping you." Anne replied.

 It took a few moments for me to absorb it all. 

"He said that it was some swordsman who saved me." I let her know. 

"Well that's our Shayd, he's very humble at times, doesn't think he deserves compliments and appreciation." She sighed as if it was a horrid thing. 

We had reached what seemed to be the kitchen a few moments after the conversation. Anne pushed the door open and beckoned me in. The thick smell of broth steamed through the room. In the centre there was a small table with a few wooden chairs around it. There were two placemats on which each had a glass and some cutlery. 

"Have a seat." The lady who was tending to a large pot on a stove exclaimed. I did as I was told and took the seat closest to the fire. It was nearing winter and heat was, in my eyes, dearly appreciated Just then Shayd walked in as well. Placing his sword aside he took off his shoes and walked over to the table. Tacking a seat across from me he eased himself into the chair and then turned to the cook. 

"Smells great once again Clarissa, what is it?" he commented. "Beef stew." She told him, grinning at him all the while. He returned the smile and then turned to me. 

"Long time no see." He greeted. 

"I'll say." I responded, looking about the kitchen. Like everything else I had seen so far it was plainly decorated with only the barest of necessities. 

"Shayd, are you a swordsman?" I asked him as Anne's story crossed my mind. 

"Yeah. Father Dominique wanted me to become an Acolyte like him and everyone else here, so I studied the bible and anything along those lines until one day. I went on a trip to Izlude with some others. Since we were there early I went exploring and ended up in the Swordsman Job Agency. Before anyone knew otherwise I took on the challenge, passed my novice level, aced the test and became a swordsman." He explained, accepting a bowl of stew from Clarissa. 

"So it was you. You saved me." I stated, also taking a bowl. 

He did not say anything and just began to sip down his lunch. I leant forwards slightly and with all the sincerity I could muster I told him simply, 

"Thank you. If it weren't for you, I'd more than likely be dead." Shayd turned away. 

"I couldn't just let them get you. Those dirty bastards," Clarissa turned to look at him, "Who knows what they would have done before killing you. I can't stand them. They deserved what ever came to them. Thank God for sparing them." He muttered between gritted teeth.

 "Quite simply people like that disgust me."

"I am of those people." I told him solemnly.

** 

Yay, there's chapter 1, long enough I hope. Plz review, constructive criticism & ideas r very welcome 


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